SZAZYET
Chapter One: The Founding Anniversary
Day One — The Gathering of Crowns
The bells of Nytheris began ringing before sunrise, their deep, resonant notes travelling beyond the palace walls and across the sleeping capital. They echoed over narrow streets, crossed the silver river that divided the city, and reached the distant villages beneath the mountains, announcing the beginning of the most anticipated celebration of the year. From the highest palace towers hung banners of black and silver, embroidered with the crowned serpent that had represented House Nytheris for generations. The streets had been swept clean, fountains adorned with fresh flowers, and balconies decorated with silk. Merchants opened their stalls before dawn, hoping to profit from the arrival of foreign nobles, while children gathered along the roads to catch a glimpse of the royal carriages. Even the usually crowded marketplace seemed unusually restless, with people abandoning their morning errands whenever a procession of guards passed by. For the next five days, the capital would belong to the crowns.
The Founding Anniversary commemorated the ancient treaty that had supposedly united the three kingdoms under the Szazyet Rules. The treaty was said to have brought stability to lands that had once struggled through generations of conflict, establishing traditions that governed royal alliances, marriages, and the preservation of each kingdom's power. Every year, the royal families observed the occasion with ceremonies and feasts, but this particular celebration was expected to surpass all those before it. The rulers of Aurelith and Eryndor had accepted King Thessaric's invitation to gather at the Nytheris palace, bringing their children, trusted advisers, distinguished knights, and gifts that had taken months to prepare. For five days, the kingdoms would exchange courtesies, attend elaborate performances, participate in tournaments, and discuss matters that could shape their futures. There were alliances to strengthen, rivalries to conceal, and marriages that several ambitious nobles were already hoping to arrange. To the people, it was a celebration of peace. To the royal court, it was an opportunity that could not afford to be wasted.
And Prince Tristan of Nytheris had absolutely no intention of allowing the occasion to interfere with his morning.
“Your Highness, if you intend to attend the opening feast in your nightclothes, I would appreciate being informed before I spend another hour preparing your formal attire,” his valet remarked, standing behind him with the patience of a man who had endured this particular prince for far too many years.
Tristan glanced at him through the tall mirror in his chambers, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Would you prefer that I arrive in my armour? I imagine that would make a rather memorable impression on our guests.”
“I would prefer that you arrive dressed, Your Highness.”
“A remarkably ambitious request.”
His valet gave him a look that suggested he had long since abandoned the hope of receiving a sensible answer. Tristan merely laughed and fastened the final silver clasp on his black coat. The garment was tailored to his broad shoulders, its dark fabric embroidered with intricate silver patterns along the cuffs and collar. A ceremonial sword rested against the side of his wardrobe, polished for the occasion, though Tristan had yet to decide whether he would carry it throughout the evening or spare himself the inconvenience. His dark, wavy hair refused to remain perfectly in place, no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it. After a final inspection of his reflection, he decided that the result was satisfactory. He had never understood the court's obsession with looking as though one had spent three hours preparing to appear effortlessly composed.
“Have the delegations arrived?” he asked, reaching for his signet ring.
“House Aurelith arrived shortly after sunrise. The Eryndor procession entered the capital not long ago, and their carriages are now within the palace grounds. Their Majesties are preparing to receive the guests.”
“And my father?”
“In the great hall.”
“Mother?”
“With him.”
Tristan nodded before asking the question he already suspected would irritate his valet. “And Edric?”
“Somewhere he is not supposed to be, I imagine.”
A grin spread across Tristan's face. “Excellent. At least one of us is having a pleasant morning.”
He left his chambers before his valet could offer another lecture on royal responsibility. The corridors were unusually crowded, with servants hurrying past carrying crystal glasses, folded linens, silver trays, and fresh arrangements of white roses. Guards stood at every entrance, their armour gleaming beneath the chandeliers, while stewards inspected the final preparations with the grave expressions of men who believed that a misplaced flower could bring down a kingdom. The scent of roses drifted through the palace, mingling with the rich aroma of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and spiced wine rising from the kitchens below. Tristan descended the main staircase two steps at a time, ignoring the disapproving glance of an elderly attendant who had probably served his family long enough to remember when he had been small enough to be carried down those very stairs.
At the bottom, his younger brother Edric was waiting beside a marble pillar, looking thoroughly entertained by something that Tristan suspected had nothing to do with the celebration.
“Look at that,” Edric remarked as Tristan approached. “Our beloved prince has remembered that he lives in a palace.”
“Careful. Your admiration is becoming embarrassing.”
“I was beginning to wonder whether Father would have to announce the celebration without you.”
“He would have managed.”
“He would have been furious.”
“He can be furious while announcing it.”
Edric laughed and fell into step beside him. At twenty-four, he had inherited enough of the Nytheris charm to make a favourable impression whenever he wished, but he seemed to take considerably more pleasure in provoking his siblings than in winning the approval of the court. Tristan had long suspected that Edric regarded every royal gathering as an opportunity to collect amusing observations and use them against his family at the most inconvenient moment.
“Have you seen the Aurelith delegation?” Edric asked as they walked towards the great hall.
“Not yet.”
“Dynor is apparently determined to win every tournament scheduled for the week. I heard him discussing his training with the captain of the guard, and I am fairly certain he was trying to convince the man that he could defeat every knight in Nytheris single-handedly.”
“Then I hope someone informs him that the tournaments have rules.”
“And Ismeria has already been surrounded by three noblemen who believe they are the most interesting men alive.”
“Poor woman.”
“You should be more sympathetic.”
“I am. I am simply expressing it privately.”
Edric shook his head, laughing under his breath, and the two brothers entered the great hall together.
The room had been transformed beyond recognition. Hundreds of candles illuminated the vaulted ceiling, where painted constellations shimmered against a midnight-blue background. Long tables covered in black silk and silver-threaded runners stretched across the hall, their surfaces crowded with crystal goblets, elaborate centrepieces, and arrangements of white roses. The walls were draped with banners representing all three kingdoms, their colours arranged in careful order so that no house appeared to hold precedence over the others. At the far end of the hall, beneath the enormous crowned-serpent crest of Nytheris, a raised platform had been prepared for the three royal families. Musicians waited beside a sweeping staircase, their instruments resting in their hands as they watched the guests arrive, while servants moved between the tables with the precision of people who knew that even the smallest mistake would be remembered long after the celebration ended.
King Thessaric stood near the centre of the hall, welcoming King Corveth and Queen Ismery of Aurelith. Tristan's father wore the ceremonial black and silver of Nytheris, his expression warm enough to reassure their guests while remaining sufficiently composed to remind them that he was the host. Queen Valerienne stood beside him, elegant in a gown of deep silver, greeting the visiting nobles with the ease of someone who had spent her entire life navigating the delicate demands of royal etiquette. Their children had gathered nearby, though not all of them appeared equally enthusiastic about the proceedings. Iseldra was speaking with several noblewomen, while the youngest members of the family were still being directed towards their assigned places by a particularly determined attendant.
The Aurelith family was easy to distinguish, even in a hall filled with magnificently dressed people. Their gold-and-ivory attire reflected the warm candlelight, and their crest—a radiant sun enclosed within a golden circle—appeared on their banners, ceremonial jewellery, and the clasps fastening their cloaks. King Corveth carried himself with the quiet confidence of a ruler accustomed to being respected, while Queen Ismery greeted the assembled nobles with a graciousness that made even the most formal exchange appear effortless. Their eldest son, Dynor, stood nearby, already engaged in conversation with a group of Nytheris knights. He was tall and imposing, and the ease with which he held himself suggested that he was perfectly aware of the impression he made. Ismeria, meanwhile, seemed far more interested in the conversation surrounding her than in the men attempting to impress her, while Sylvara and young Elarienne were occupied with the musicians and the elaborate decorations.
“The Aurelith royals certainly know how to make an entrance,” Edric murmured.
Tristan glanced at the golden details of their clothing. “They have a reputation to maintain.”
“A reputation for healing, prosperity, and possessing enough gold to decorate an entire palace.”
“Perhaps we should ask them to contribute to our renovations.”
“I shall mention it to Father. I'm sure he'll be delighted to learn that his son has discovered diplomacy.”
Before Tristan could reply, the Eryndor delegation entered the hall beneath banners of deep blue and antique silver. King Ysold and Queen Morwenna led the procession, followed by their children, whose arrival drew a fresh wave of greetings from the gathered nobles. Veyrith paused to exchange courtesies with several senior members of the court, while Caedmon was intercepted almost immediately by an elderly lord who appeared determined to discuss politics with him. Isenric, on the other hand, stopped to speak with one of the palace guards, seemingly more interested in the man's recent travels than in joining the cluster of nobles waiting to greet his parents. Their differing temperaments were familiar enough to anyone acquainted with the Eryndor family, and the court seemed to take particular pleasure in observing the young royals whenever they gathered under the same roof.
The Eryndors had always possessed a reputation that was difficult to separate from rumour. Their royal bloodline was associated with visions, memories, and prophecies, and people tended to become unusually careful about what they said in their presence. Some believed the family could glimpse fragments of what had been or what might yet come, while others dismissed such stories as exaggerations encouraged by centuries of tradition. Whatever the truth, Eryndor's name carried a weight that made even the most confident nobles choose their words carefully. It was not uncommon for conversations to grow quieter when one of their royals approached, though whether this was due to respect, unease, or simple fascination depended on whom one asked.
Tristan watched the greetings for a moment before turning to his brother. “Do you think anyone here has come to celebrate the treaty?”
Edric surveyed the room, taking in the assembled nobles, the royal families, and the numerous courtiers already engaged in whispered conversations. “Certainly. Some have come to celebrate the treaty. Others have come to negotiate marriages. A few have come to secure trade agreements, and the rest have come to discover which princesses are unmarried.”
“An impressive distinction.”
“I have been observing the court for years.”
“You have been eavesdropping for years.”
“An essential royal skill.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the royal herald struck the floor with his ceremonial staff. The sound rang through the hall, gradually silencing the surrounding conversations as the guests turned towards the raised platform. King Thessaric stepped forward, and the three royal families gathered beneath their respective banners. The musicians fell silent, the servants withdrew to the edges of the room, and the atmosphere shifted from lively anticipation to formal expectation. This was the moment the celebration had been built around: the public reaffirmation of a treaty that had supposedly bound their kingdoms together for generations.
“Honoured guests, noble houses, and loyal subjects of the three kingdoms,” King Thessaric began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “Today, we gather not merely to commemorate a treaty, but to honour the generations who preserved the peace it established. The Szazyet Rules have guided our crowns through alliances, royal unions, and times of uncertainty. They remind us that the strength of a kingdom lies not only in its power, but in the promises it keeps. Our ancestors understood that no crown could endure through strength alone, and that prosperity meant little if it was purchased at the cost of lasting peace.”
He paused, allowing the words to settle before continuing. “For the next five days, may we celebrate the prosperity of our kingdoms, strengthen the bonds between our houses, and reaffirm the peace entrusted to us by our ancestors. May our children inherit a world more prosperous than the one we received, and may the promises made beneath these banners remain worthy of the generations who will follow us.”
The king raised his goblet, and the assembled nobles followed his example. “To the three crowns, and to the peace that shall endure between them.”
“To the three crowns!” the hall answered.
The musicians began playing again, and the feast officially commenced.
The first course arrived in a procession of servants carrying polished silver trays. Roasted meats glazed with honey and herbs were placed beside bowls of spiced vegetables, freshly baked bread, and delicate pastries filled with fruit and cream. Platters of grapes, strawberries, and figs were arranged among the centrepieces, while crystal decanters were filled with wines brought from the vineyards of all three kingdoms. The food was as extravagant as the occasion demanded, and the servants moved between the tables with an efficiency that suggested they had rehearsed every step for weeks. Conversation returned almost immediately, filling the hall with laughter, the soft clink of glasses, and the familiar sounds of nobles attempting to demonstrate that they were both interesting and important.
Tristan found himself seated between Edric and Iseldra, a placement that suggested their parents had either intended to encourage sibling affection or had simply wished to keep the three of them where they could be watched. Iseldra adjusted the sleeve of her gown before turning towards her brother with a look of warning.
“Try not to offend any foreign dignitaries tonight,” she said.
Tristan looked genuinely puzzled. “I never offend dignitaries.”
“You told the Duke of Westmere that his hunting stories were less believable than children's fairy tales.”
“They were.”
“And you asked the ambassador from Eryndor whether his ceremonial hat was intended to frighten birds.”
“It was an unfortunate hat.”
Edric nearly choked on his drink, turning away to hide his laughter. Iseldra looked at Tristan with the exhausted patience of an older sister who had long ago accepted that reason was unlikely to prevail.
“You see?” she said. “This is precisely why I worry.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“It is exhausting.”
Tristan reached for his glass and offered her a pleasant smile. “Then perhaps you should stop concerning yourself with me. You might finally enjoy a royal celebration.”
“I would enjoy one considerably more if you behaved like a normal person for a single evening.”
“That sounds terribly dull.”
Edric leaned closer, his expression bright with amusement. “For what it's worth, I believe the Duke of Westmere deserved it.”
“Thank you,” Tristan replied.
“I didn't say that to support you. I simply dislike his hunting stories.”
Iseldra sighed and turned back towards the table, leaving the brothers to congratulate themselves on an entirely unhelpful conversation.
The first official exchange of gifts began shortly after the meal. Aurelith was the first to present its offering, and King Corveth rose from his seat to address the assembled court. He spoke of friendship, prosperity, and the importance of preserving knowledge that could benefit all three kingdoms. His words were accompanied by a procession of attendants carrying gifts upon velvet cushions: finely crafted healing instruments, rare medicinal manuscripts, and gold-inlaid vessels created by Aurelith's most celebrated artisans. Each item was displayed before the assembled nobles while the herald described its significance, and the guests responded with appreciative murmurs whenever something particularly remarkable was revealed.
Among the gifts was a magnificent ceremonial staff carved from pale wood and decorated with intricate golden vines. Its head held a polished amber stone that caught the candlelight, casting warm reflections across the faces of those gathered nearby. The staff was said to have been fashioned by master craftsmen using materials from one of Aurelith's oldest sanctuaries, and its presentation was accompanied by a short explanation of the kingdom's tradition of preserving sacred objects. King Thessaric accepted the gifts with a gracious speech, praising the generosity of House Aurelith and reaffirming the friendship between their kingdoms. The exchange ended with formal bows and applause, and the attendants carefully carried the offerings away to be placed among the treasures prepared for the celebration.
“An excellent beginning,” Edric murmured as the next group of servants approached.
Tristan glanced at him. “Do you intend to judge every gift?”
“Of course. It is the only interesting part of diplomacy.”
“Then I shall look forward to your assessment of the medicinal manuscripts.”
“I shall rank them according to how likely they are to put me to sleep.”
“An ambitious system.”
“I pride myself on fairness.”
The gifts from Nytheris followed. King Thessaric presented Aurelith with a collection of intricately engraved silver mirrors, ceremonial jewellery, and rare black gemstones extracted from the northern mountains. The gemstones were particularly striking, their dark surfaces reflecting only faint traces of the surrounding light. They had been carefully cut by Nytheris artisans and set into decorative pieces that combined the kingdom's distinctive craftsmanship with the elegance favoured by the Aurelith court. For Eryndor, the Nytheris craftsmen had created an elaborate astronomical instrument made of silver and dark crystal, its rotating rings marked with the constellations used by the kingdom's scholars. The instrument was presented with considerable ceremony, and King Ysold examined it with visible interest before thanking his host.
“Your craftsmen have outdone themselves,” King Ysold remarked. “This will be treasured in Eryndor.”
“We are honoured,” King Thessaric replied. “May it serve your scholars for generations.”
The exchange was received with applause, and the herald announced the final presentation of the evening: the gifts brought by Eryndor. Their offerings were fewer in number but extraordinary in craftsmanship. An ancient collection of illuminated manuscripts was presented first, followed by a silver astrolabe engraved with intricate celestial patterns and three finely worked boxes made from dark wood and decorated with delicate filigree. Each box bore a different royal crest, symbolising the relationship between the three houses. The work was so detailed that even the nobles seated farthest from the platform leaned forward to see it more clearly.
The final gift was presented by Queen Morwenna herself. It was a large, bound volume secured by silver clasps, its cover decorated with the three recognised royal emblems. The queen held it carefully as she addressed the gathered court, explaining that it contained chronicles of their shared history, collected and preserved by Eryndor's royal scholars over generations.
“May future generations remember the promises that brought our kingdoms together,” she said, offering the volume to King Thessaric.
The Nytheris king accepted it with both hands and inclined his head in gratitude. The hall responded with appreciative applause, and for a moment the three royal families stood together beneath their banners, presenting the appearance of a unity that the court had spent centuries celebrating. Tristan watched the ceremony with the appropriate degree of attention, though his thoughts occasionally wandered towards the tournament schedule and the prospect of escaping the feast before midnight. Around him, conversations moved from the quality of the gifts to the relative strength of the kingdoms' armies, from trade routes to marriages that might one day unite particular noble houses. Everyone smiled, everyone praised the offerings, and everyone seemed to be measuring everyone else.
As the formal presentations concluded, the herald announced the beginning of the evening's entertainment. Servants cleared the remaining dishes from the central tables, while musicians moved into position and attendants opened the tall doors leading to the performance floor. The first performance belonged to Nytheris, and a company of dancers entered wearing black and silver. They carried long ribbons that shimmered like moonlight, their movements beginning slowly, almost ceremonially, before accelerating into a series of intricate turns and coordinated leaps. The musicians played flutes, violins, and deep drums, building the rhythm until the entire hall seemed to vibrate with it. The performance told the story of Nytheris's founding: a kingdom born from conflict, strengthened by courage, and bound by loyalty. The dancers moved around one another in sweeping patterns, their silver ribbons weaving together before separating again, until the final movement brought them into a formation resembling the crowned serpent upon the palace banners.
When the final note sounded, applause erupted across the hall. Tristan joined in, genuinely impressed despite himself, while Edric leaned towards him with a look of exaggerated solemnity.
“I suppose we should be grateful that they didn't ask you to perform.”
Tristan turned towards him. “I would have been magnificent.”
“You would have tripped over the ribbons.”
“I would have made it look intentional.”
“Of course. A bold new interpretation of the founding of Nytheris, in which the kingdom is established by a prince falling down a staircase.”
“Your imagination is a gift to this family.”
Edric grinned. “I know.”
Aurelith followed with a gentler performance, its dancers dressed in ivory and gold. They moved beneath suspended lanterns decorated with flowers, their choreography inspired by the changing seasons and the renewal of life. The lights shifted gradually from pale gold to soft green and warm amber, while the dancers moved through sweeping formations that represented the growth of seeds, the arrival of spring, and the abundance of harvest. The effect was beautiful enough that even Tristan stopped making sarcastic remarks for several minutes. When the performance ended, Queen Valerienne applauded warmly and exchanged a few appreciative words with Queen Ismery, who appeared pleased by the reception.
“Remarkable,” Edric admitted as the next performers prepared themselves.
Tristan glanced at him. “I shall inform the performers that they have received your approval.”
“Do that, and I shall inform them that you spent half the performance trying to identify which dancer was most likely to fall.”
“I was assessing their footwork.”
“Of course.”
The Eryndor performance proved entirely different from the others. Its dancers wore flowing blue garments embroidered with silver thread, and the hall darkened as hundreds of tiny lights appeared above the floor. The performers moved beneath them in carefully measured patterns, representing stars crossing the night sky. At times, they seemed to follow one another; at others, they appeared to anticipate movements that had not yet begun. Their choreography was restrained but strangely captivating, each movement precise enough to suggest that even the smallest gesture had been considered long before the music began. The musicians played a haunting melody that rose and fell like a distant wind, and the audience gradually fell silent as the performance unfolded. When the final notes faded, the hall remained quiet for a brief moment before the applause began.
Tristan found himself watching the performers with more interest than he had expected. There was something distinctive about Eryndor's artistic traditions, a quality that made even an ordinary dance feel as though it carried a meaning beyond what could be seen. Whether that was a result of the kingdom's reputation for visions and prophecies or simply the skill of its performers, he could not say. He only knew that the display had held his attention until the very end.
When the musicians resumed playing, the formal dances began. Noblemen approached princesses with invitations, young ladies gathered in small groups to exchange whispered observations about their potential partners, and older courtiers watched the proceedings with keen interest. A dance between two young royals could become the subject of a week's worth of gossip, while a declined invitation might be interpreted as an insult, a political statement, or evidence of a secret attachment. Everyone seemed aware of the unspoken rules, and most appeared perfectly willing to exploit them.
Tristan was approached by two noblewomen and a countess whose name he had forgotten almost immediately after hearing it. He danced with all three, performing his duties with enough charm to ensure that none of his partners could accuse him of being rude. He was attentive when expected, offered compliments that were just sincere enough to be believed, and made jokes that brought smiles to even the more reserved ladies. His reputation for charm was well deserved, though those who knew him best understood that he often used humour to escape conversations he found tedious. By the time the third dance ended, he had been asked about the tournament, the state of the northern roads, and whether he intended to visit Aurelith during the following summer.
He answered each question with practised ease, though he privately suspected that some of his conversation partners were far more interested in the possibility of a royal match than in his opinions on roads.
When he finally escaped to the side of the hall, Edric was waiting beside a pillar with a drink in hand, watching his brother with obvious amusement.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Edric remarked.
“I am fulfilling my obligations.”
“You looked considerably more enthusiastic during the last dance.”
“She was an excellent dancer.”
“She was also the daughter of Lord Varen, who controls the eastern trade routes.”
Tristan accepted a fresh drink from a passing servant and regarded his brother with an expression of profound patience. “Then it is fortunate that I complimented her dancing rather than her father's accounting.”
Edric laughed. “One day, you will accidentally charm yourself into a political alliance.”
“Then I shall hope the alliance has good wine.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a group of knights passing nearby. The men wore the formal uniforms of their respective kingdoms, their ceremonial swords polished and their insignia displayed prominently on their chests. They were speaking quietly, their voices partly concealed by the music and the conversations surrounding them, but one of them spoke loudly enough for Tristan to catch a few words.
“Have you seen her yet?” the knight asked.
“Seen whom?”
“Princess Lyara of Eryndor.”
Another knight gave a low whistle. “I heard she was beautiful, but I thought the reports were exaggerated.”
“They weren't. I caught a glimpse of her earlier when the Eryndor delegation entered. Gods, I couldn't take my eyes off her.”
“Then you should have tried harder. You're a knight, not a lovesick boy.”
“Easy for you to say. You haven't seen her.”
“I have,” a third knight interjected. “And I understand the problem.”
The first man laughed quietly. “Apparently, half the court has been talking about her since the delegation arrived.”
“Half the court?” the second knight replied. “The other half is pretending not to.”
Their voices faded as they moved towards the opposite side of the hall, leaving Tristan staring after them for a moment longer than he intended. He had initially paid little attention to their conversation, assuming it concerned some minor court rumour, but the name had caught his interest. Lyara of Eryndor. He knew of the princess, of course; the royal families were familiar enough with one another that their names and positions were hardly secrets. Yet he could not recall ever having spoken to her, nor could he remember a clear description of her appearance.
“Lyara?” he asked, turning towards his brother.
Edric followed his gaze and immediately understood what had caught his attention. “Princess Lyara of Eryndor.”
“I know who she is.”
“Do you? How impressive.”
Tristan ignored the remark. “What were they saying?”
Edric's smile widened with the sort of enthusiasm that suggested he had just discovered an entirely new way to annoy his brother. “That she is beautiful, apparently. Stunning enough to make our brave knights forget how to behave like grown men.”
“That's what they're whispering about?”
“Among other things. I suspect the descriptions will become increasingly dramatic as the evening progresses. By tomorrow, someone will probably claim that she walked into the hall and every candle burned brighter.”
Tristan scoffed. “People exaggerate.”
“Constantly. Especially when discussing royalty.”
He took a sip of his drink, but his eyes wandered towards the far end of the hall. The Eryndor delegation had dispersed among the guests, and several members of the family were engaged in conversation with nobles from Nytheris and Aurelith. King Ysold and Queen Morwenna stood near the royal tables, while Veyrith was speaking with a senior commander. Caedmon had been drawn into yet another discussion, and Isenric stood beside one of the tall windows. Tristan searched the surrounding faces without quite admitting to himself that he was doing so, but the princess was nowhere to be seen.
“Is she here?” he asked at last, keeping his tone deliberately casual.
Edric turned to him. “Ah.”
Tristan frowned. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have a remarkably irritating way of saying nothing.”
“I have been told it is one of my finest qualities.”
“Edric.”
“I believe she arrived with the Eryndor delegation. I couldn't tell you where she is now.”
Tristan glanced towards the entrance, then towards the gallery overlooking the hall. A few guests had withdrawn to the adjoining rooms, while others stood near the windows enjoying the cooler evening air. Servants moved between the tables, carrying fresh drinks and collecting empty glasses. He saw several unfamiliar faces, including a young noblewoman speaking with one of the Eryndor attendants, but none of them seemed to match the description he had just heard.
“Why are you looking around?” Edric asked innocently.
“I'm looking at the room.”
“Of course. It is a rather large room.”
Tristan turned towards him. “I was searching for someone from the Eryndor delegation.”
“Someone.”
“A person, Edric.”
“How reassuringly specific.”
Tristan gave him a warning look, but Edric only laughed. “Perhaps she is avoiding the feast. Or perhaps she simply prefers not to spend the evening being stared at by every knight in the kingdom.”
“An entirely reasonable preference.”
“Then I suggest you respect it.”
“I haven't even met her.”
“Yet you have asked about her twice.”
“Three times, if you count this conversation,” Tristan replied. “I suppose we should both be concerned.”
Edric laughed again, clearly pleased with himself. Tristan turned away before his brother could invent another accusation, telling himself that his curiosity was perfectly ordinary. The knights had spoken about the princess as though she were the most extraordinary person to enter the capital, and he wanted to know whether their enthusiasm was justified. Beauty was hardly a rare subject of conversation among the nobility, and he had heard far more ridiculous claims made about people he had actually met. There was no reason for him to become interested simply because a few knights had apparently forgotten how to conduct themselves.
Still, he found himself glancing towards the doors again.
The evening continued around him, refusing to pause for his curiosity. The musicians played a livelier collection of songs, the dance floor filled with couples, and the hall grew warmer as more guests joined the festivities. Tristan was drawn into another conversation, this time with a senior Nytheris commander and an Aurelith nobleman who insisted on discussing the upcoming tournament. He listened politely, offered the necessary responses, and even agreed to participate in the opening archery exhibition. Yet throughout the conversation, his attention wandered towards the entrance more often than he cared to admit.
At one point, he spotted Queen Morwenna speaking with his mother near the edge of the hall. He considered approaching them to ask about the Eryndor delegation, but immediately dismissed the idea. Asking a queen about her daughter's whereabouts would be a rather ridiculous way to begin a five-day celebration. Besides, he had no reason to seek the princess out. He had not met her, had never spoken to her, and did not even know what she looked like. It was entirely possible that the knights had exaggerated the whole matter.
He was still thinking about it when Iseldra appeared beside him.
“Tristan, are you listening?”
“Entirely.”
“What did I say?”
“That I am a terrible brother.”
“I said that you promised to dance with Lady Merrow after the next performance.”
“An equally serious accusation.”
Iseldra gave him a disbelieving look before following his gaze towards the far end of the hall. She watched him for a moment, and then her expression changed into one of quiet amusement.
“Oh.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You and Edric have been spending too much time together.”
“I was simply wondering whether you had found what you were looking for.”
“I wasn't looking for anything.”
“Of course not.”
She patted his arm with the solemnity of someone comforting a grieving relative and walked away before he could respond. Tristan watched her leave, muttering something under his breath about the complete absence of loyalty among his siblings. When he turned back towards the hall, he found Edric watching him from across the room with a grin that promised the matter would not be forgotten anytime soon.
The evening moved towards its final performance, and the musicians announced one last dance before the guests retired for the night. Couples returned to the floor, their formal attire catching the candlelight as they moved beneath the chandeliers. The kings gathered in conversation near the royal tables, discussing the tournament and the diplomatic meetings scheduled for the following days. King Corveth spoke with enthusiasm about the competition, while King Thessaric listened with the composed expression of a man who had no intention of allowing his guests to believe that Nytheris would be easily outmatched.
“This year, I expect the competition to be particularly interesting,” Thessaric remarked. “Our knights have been preparing for months.”
“Then we shall see whether their preparation has been worthwhile,” Corveth replied with a smile.
Dynor, who had been listening nearby, looked up from his conversation. “Aurelith intends to give Nytheris a proper challenge.”
Tristan leaned back in his chair. “How considerate of you to warn us.”
Dynor laughed. “I would hate for you to be unprepared.”
“Then you have my gratitude. I'll be sure to send you a list of all our weaknesses before the first match.”
“Please do. It would save us considerable time.”
Their exchange drew laughter from the surrounding nobles. Even King Thessaric smiled, though he warned the young men not to mistake friendly rivalry for permission to start a war before the week was over. The conversation moved on to the tournament schedule, and Tristan was asked whether he intended to participate in the swordsmanship trials. He confirmed that he did, earning a satisfied nod from his father and an amused remark from Edric about the unfortunate state of any knight who happened to be paired against him.
By the time the final dance ended, the candles had burned low enough for the servants to begin replacing them. The musicians lowered their instruments, and the guests gradually began making their farewells before retiring to their chambers or the private rooms prepared for the visiting delegations. Some lingered near the windows, reluctant to abandon the festivities, while others had already begun discussing the following day's events. The palace remained bright and lively despite the late hour, but the grand hall was slowly losing the splendour that had filled it at the beginning of the evening.
Tristan stood near the edge of the hall, watching the last of the dancers. He had met several interesting people, endured a respectable amount of diplomacy, and survived an entire evening of his siblings' commentary. By every reasonable measure, the first day had been a success. And yet, a small, irritating part of his mind remained occupied by a princess he had never seen. He had not asked about her again, he reminded himself, and he certainly had not searched the adjoining rooms. He had merely looked around a few times after overhearing a conversation. It was hardly worth discussing.
Unfortunately, Edric had eyes.
“Still no princess?” his brother asked, appearing beside him as though summoned by the prospect of making his life difficult.
Tristan did not look at him. “Still no silence from you?”
“Not while you continue providing entertainment.”
“I am delighted to be of service.”
Edric leaned against the pillar, following his brother's gaze across the room. “You know, if you are curious, you could simply speak to her when you meet.”
“And if I am not curious?”
“Then I suppose you will spend the next four days asking everyone where she is.”
Tristan finally turned towards him. “I have asked two people.”
“Three, if you count me.”
“I regret every one of them.”
“I'm sure you do.”
Tristan shook his head, trying to suppress a smile, and pushed away from the pillar. He offered his parents the appropriate goodnight, exchanged a final few words with Dynor, and left the hall with Edric at his side. As they climbed the staircase, Edric continued talking about the tournament, the visiting knights, and the likelihood that Dynor would challenge Tristan to a match before the end of the week. Tristan responded when necessary, but his attention had begun to wander once more.
Five days remained. There would be tournaments, ceremonies, dances, and countless opportunities for the royal families to mingle. If Princess Lyara was indeed as extraordinary as the knights claimed, he would eventually see her. It was hardly something worth thinking about, and he had no intention of making a habit of searching for someone simply because a few men had been unable to stop talking about her.
At the landing, Edric stopped and looked at him with an expression of exaggerated seriousness. “One piece of advice, brother.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “I'm almost afraid to hear it.”
“Try not to spend tomorrow searching for someone you haven't even met.”
Tristan stared at him for a moment before letting out a short laugh. “Go to bed, Edric.”
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
“And find a new hobby.”
“I have one,” Edric called after him. “Apparently, it's watching you become interested in a princess.”
Tristan shut his chamber door before his brother could say anything else. For a few moments, he stood in the quiet room, listening to the distant sounds of celebration fading beyond the palace walls. Then he removed his signet ring, placed it upon the dressing table, and loosened the clasp of his coat. The room was still, the candles burned low, and the sounds of the capital drifted faintly through the open balcony doors. He had spent the entire evening surrounded by people, yet the quiet felt strangely welcome.
He had not met Princess Lyara of Eryndor. He had not even seen her. Tomorrow, he decided, he would have far more important things to occupy his attention. There would be preparations for the tournament, royal meetings, and a full schedule of ceremonies that would demand his presence whether he liked it or not. He would not spend another thought on a princess whose name he had heard only because a few knights had been whispering about her.
Outside, the bells of Nytheris rang midnight, their distant notes drifting over the sleeping city. The first day of the Founding Anniversary had come to an end, leaving behind a palace full of exhausted servants, satisfied guests, and nobles already planning their next moves. The three crowns had gathered beneath one roof, gifts had been exchanged, and the ancient treaty had been honoured before the assembled court.
The celebration had four days left, Tristan wished to see her before these four days.